“Okay.” I told him about Marla coming over, that she’d had terrible nightmares, just like the Smythes and Patsie Boatfield. I remembered I’d stuck the piece of paper into my pocket that had the list of what everyone who’d had nightmares had eaten. I handed it over to Tom. “Have you found anything in Holly’s bloodstream?” I asked.
“I’ll get to that. Keep going.”
I told him about our trip to the country club, where muscle-bound Bob had been training an uninterested but very studious Ophelia. She’d appeared bored with us, but intent on her book. Tom wanted to know what she’d been reading, and I told him.
“Architectural Planning?” Tom repeated incredulously. “Not exactly bedside-table reading material.”
“Not exactly. What do you suppose it means?”
“I don’t know. Why did you want to go to
